


One Fine Evening

by SilverFaerie



Category: Carpe Noctem, Vampire: The Masquerade, White Wolf, World of Darkness - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Fluffy, Ophelia has a nice night, The Echo Chamber, Toreador - Freeform, pet human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 00:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10673814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFaerie/pseuds/SilverFaerie
Summary: Ophelia has a pleasant evening.





	One Fine Evening

Ophelia awoke just as the last of the songbirds were finishing up their twilight love calls; at least she would have if she had not been stuck in the middle of the city. The only thing she actually heard was the sound of distant sirens, car engines and shouting from down the street. Not exactly inspiring: she had never really taken to urban poetry. She untangled herself from the sheets, allowing herself a few moments to stare at the ceiling in silence, before climbing out of bed. There was no reason to dress up tonight so she settled for something more casual: black skinny jeans and a shirt for a band that was popular a decade ago.

Wandering into the kitchen, she flicked on the coffee machine: although it was coming up to six months since the night of her Embrace, she hadn’t yet shed the last of her human rituals. The smell made her feel more awake, even if she could no longer bear the taste. She poured herself a cup and slipped out onto her balcony, warming her hands on the porcelain. The sky was cloudless; the moon ivory and almost full. The sodium lights of the city, as always, masked most of the stars.

She stood perfectly still for a while, listening to the sounds of the city below her apartment as the coffee turned cold in her hands. Probing her mood, she felt neither elated nor depressed, which made a nice change. Just a blankness, an aporia of feeling, a hiatus. It would be her decision as to how to spend the evening, free of the reigns of her derangement. She had no plans for the night, other than to perhaps surprise Delilah with flowers, or stop in at the library.

She poured the coffee over the edge of the balcony unceremoniously and went back inside, closing and locking the door behind her and shutting the thick damask curtains. Grabbing her keys, she set off out of her rooms, opting for the stairs rather than the lift. Her mailbox had received a package while she was asleep and upon retrieving it, the handwriting immediately brought a smile to her lips; a gift from a friend in London. She peeled open the brown envelope then stopped, the smell of old paper and leather flooding her nose. Perhaps this was not the place to take the book out; it wouldn’t do to be caught frozen in the hallway. She rushed back upstairs and set the parcel on her desk for later.

Finally out of the door, she meandered down the side streets for a while, enjoying the relative peace. What would make her happy, that was the question. If she was going to fill the gap of feeling with something, she would rather it be joyful tonight. Deciding upon a surprise visit to her ghoul, Ophelia dropped into the only flower shop that she knew to be open and bought a bouquet of roses: white and red. She signed the notecard in elegant calligraphy: “To my ghoul-friend; my rose by another name. Ophelia x”. She rolled her eyes at her own atrocious pun but had a feeling the bartender would appreciate it – her sense of humour one of the many things Ophelia adored about her. 

Stepping back into the cold night, Ophelia ignored the stares she received for the bouquet and followed the familiar roads to Delilah’s establishment. Her steps were much lighter this time, she buzzed lightly with anticipation. She nodded at the doorman who recognised her by now and let her slide past the line, into the smoky room and directly to the bar. Ophelia tapped her fingers on the polished wood impatiently as Delilah finished up the end of her shift. They made eye-contact a few times, but Ophelia knew to let her finish work before stealing her away. She rested the roses on the stool beside her, out of line of sight. Delilah’s replacement finally arrived and she threw off her apron, hanging it behind the bar. She stepped into the break room for a moment to gather her things and Ophelia smiled, enjoying the view as she walked away.

She eventually re-emerged, lipstick reapplied perfectly (though not for long if Ophelia has her way). The bar is packed as usual, but Delilah led her through the crowds towards a table hidden away behind a corner. Ophelia pulled out her chair and let her sit before taking her own place and producing the flowers.

They spend the evening together and, as predicted, by the end of the night Delilah’s lipstick was smeared across her own lips. Throughout the evening, Delilah dropped a few hints that she would quite like to renew the blood-bond but Ophelia quickly changed the subject. Her limited research on the topic made her wary of inflicting something too strong on the woman, as far as she was concerned this was a consensual relationship and that wasn’t about to change.

Around three in the morning, Delilah began to yawn and Ophelia smiled softly taking her hand. “Time for bed, sweet.” Delilah nodded sleepily and Ophelia led her out the door to the local taxi rank with a twenty dollar bill in her hand. “Get home safe.” She kissed her lover lightly on the cheek and watched her disappear into the traffic.

Leaning back against the cold stone of the alley, Ophelia smiled up at the sky. There were certainly worse ways to spend an evening, and she still had a few hours until the sun was due to rise. Gathering her thoughts, she began the long walk back to her apartment. 

The night air was surprisingly warm, and the streets full of people – most of them well intoxicated by this point. Rather than feeling annoyed, she enjoyed the spectacle: mortals just being their normal, loud, ridiculous selves in the night. As she passed among them, she felt almost close to them, as if she could still feel the heavy weight of alcohol in her blood and the lightness in her head. She received a few catcalls, but did nothing but smile back at them; amused instead of offended.

Without noticing, she had taken the long route back to her apartment. She checked her watch as she stepped back inside the building; still plenty of time. Her rooms were as she’d left them, the package waiting patiently for her on the desk. She picked it up carefully and brought it to her bedroom, settling into the nest of sheets and pillows in the middle of her bed. Delicately, she drew the book out of the envelope and sighed. It was as beautiful as she had imagined it would be: her friend always did have excellent taste.

She ran her fingers carefully over the binding, feeling every groove and wrinkle that demonstrated the book’s age: early Victorian she guessed. Opening it, she noted the title “British Wildflowers”; a nature guide then. She spent the rest of the evening fully enraptured by the delicate illustrations and accompanying descriptions. As the dawn began to rise, she set the book on the nightstand and curled up in bed, one hand still resting on the cover.


End file.
